A Prayer for the Sinners
by the Angel fish and the turtle
Summary: When Dean came back, things weren't exactly the way he remembered them. He wasn't too keen on James either. AU as of Season 3 final. Wincest of Sam/Dean variaty in later chapters. likely Limp!Sam, ansty!Dean and OC.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n- Okay this is set post season three but is Au from that point on. No angels make an appearance in this, nor does the whole **_**stop using your powers, even for good, or god will kill you thing. **_**Which is annoying the crap out of me. Just pretend that Season four never existed.**

**Also this is Wincest. Many of my stories are, so if you don't like don't read. However it won't come up for a long time.**

**Finally, I am not Christian or religious at all in fact, but you'll find I'll probably reference it a hell of a lot. (Sometimes even subconsciously, like in this first chapter.) I'm sorry if this offends but with a show like supernatural it's kinda unavoidable. **

**Disclaimer: All Characters and episode ideas belong to their creator Eric Kipke, his co-writers and CW television. I make no profit from this fictional work.**

**################################**

**A PRAYER FOR THE SINNERS**

_If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent__If the unheard, unspoken Word is unspoken, unheard;  
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,  
The Word without a word, the Word within  
The world and for the world;  
And the light shone in darkness and  
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled__ About the centre of the silent Word_

_ Ash-Wednesday (V.) T.S. Elliot_

**Prologue**

**Pain.**

There is no night, no day. No before or hope of an after. There is no memory or sense, there is only and always **Pain**.

Consuming….the creature doesn't know what it is, isn't even sure of self, of the realness of it's own existence, for all it knows, it is nothing, never was anything. Only **Pain**, every facet and form of it. That is all.

There are…. Faces. It sees on the inside. Faces and blood and beseeching eyes.

_A high__, unmoving, mechanical tone / a flat digital line / warm liquid on his hands and a still chest._

The images make it ache within itself. Make it keen high and loud and leak (_Cry?). _It dose not know why they do this, only that they bring **Pain** in it's most dreadful of ways.

There is nothing, only **Pain**.

Except.

**The Word** is both part of the **Pain** and it is not. It stands heavy within the creature, irremovable, creating liner thoughts around it.

Sometimes it is used for **Pain** and the horror is indescribable.

But **The Word** deeper even that **Pain **and whether the thing is real or not; **The Word **is real, impossibly real. A fixed point in everything and ingrained in every part of its being.

_**SAMMY.**_

It knows not **The Word's** meaning, nor it's origin. It knows not the reasons and causes behind it's importance nor why it dominated the world. It only knows **Pain** and **The Word** are opposites. That though used, **The Word** is not an agent of **Pain.**

That **Pain** is pale compared with **The Word.**

But there is no before. No after. No day, no night. No memory or goal. There is….

Other Words.

The creature almost misses them, but they are true, unlike the faces **Pain** alludes. They are not like **The Word**, powerful, old and the foundation of the world. They are light fluttering things like rain and bird wings. They fall over him and even **Pain **digresses for a time.

"……_.Grant me a wish for saving you? You're a god so I doubt the danger was ever real and I know you don't do anything for free. So….what do you want."_

"_Now, now I really do want to grant you a wish. Demons are such dull things, no fun to play with, so the hunters winning the war really is to my advantage. And if I'm going to be mucking about in this, I thought, why not go to the big boys, why not go to a Winchester."_

"_So that's it. You want to save Humanity so you can still toy with us!"_

"_well if you don't want-"_

"_No! no I would….please…"_

"_Ahh, now there's an interesting thought boy. Yes that would be fun. Have to take your word though, and I'm not quite sure that's what you meant…But it's done._

"_It's done? Just like that?! After…"_

Any other words that may or may not have come are lost. The world crumbles around it, the faces dissipating in a shower of sparks. And **Pain** begins to retract, **Pain** begins to….

There has never been anything but **Pain**, it loss is terror filled, for if there is no **Pain**, then how on earth was there self…..

**The Word** rises, solid, unchanging thing among the chaos.

The creature raps itself around it through the churning.

The creature feels itself rising, T**he Word **with it.

Then **The Word** explodes outwards, stretching out until every nerve-ending seems to hum with it.

**JOHN, MARY, WINCHESTER, HUNTING, YELLOW_EYED DEMON, BOBBY, IMPALA, FIRE, HOSPITAL, CROSSROADS, YEAR, LILITH, HELL. **

**And Sammy, and Sammy, and Sammy, over everything, every part of him.**

And Dean, yes _Dean Winchester_.

That is who he is.

Dean Winchester, brother of Sam.

He smiles blearily before falling back into darkness.

TBC…..

**Yeah, This first bit is a little weird I know, but I was trying to present Hell as an abstract concept rather that a tangible, detailed thing. Not sure if I pulled it off though. Anyway from now on things are a bit more normal for our boys I promise.**

**Review and tell me what you think. No flamers please.**

**The Angelfish and the Turtle.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n- So here's the first chapter. Um, not alot else to say. I'm introducing an Oc, which I'm a bit nervous about and tring very hard not to make a Gary Stu as he's kinda important to the story.  
**

**Disclaimer: All Characters and episode ideas belong to their creator Eric Kipke, his co-writers and CW television. I make no profit from this fictional work.**

**#################  
**

_Because I cannot hope to turn again, concequently I rejoice, having to construct something upon which to rejoice, and prey to God to have mercy upon us, and prey that I may forget, these matters with myself I too much discuss .._

_ Ash-Wednesday (I) T..  
_

**Chapter Two.**

James Miller pressed his foot down hard on the acceleration pedal, as he speed down the dark highway. He knew he was asking too much, the impala was a wonderful car but she was getting to be quite old. He should slow down and give the engine time to warm up before he tried 180 miles an hour, but for once he could not bring himself to care.

Sam was coming home.

He'd been gone six months now and James had not known what to do, where to find him, where to even start. One day he'd been there, the solid dependable thing he was in James' life and the next he'd simply disappeared.

But it didn't matter where Sam had been, or why he'd been missing so long. It didn't matter what condition Sam would be in when he made it back- because there was no way, Sam would have left him so long without a dam good reason.

It only mattered that he was coming, that James wouldn't be alone anymore.

Bobby would have told him to be wary, to look at the facts, that nothing came for nothing. James would have said the same had it been any other situation, but as it was he angrily ignored the loud voice of cynicism in his head, repeated the event to himself over and over.

Sam _was_ coming back, _dammit _.

So yes, Bobby would no doubt be sceptical, suspicious but Bobby's was the place he had to go, the place he knew Sam would head for now he was able. The place, the only place the two had considered home since James had lost Mississippi, normalcy and a soft smile. Since Sam had lost….

Well everything.

He was an hour away, slightly sore from the simple salt and burn which of course had not been at all simple. That was another one of Sam's phrases, _it's always the easy jobs which bite you in the…'_

His thoughts cut off abruptly, his foot crashing down on the break. He barely stopped in time, and when stationed he could no longer see it over the bonnet. For one sickening moment, he'd thought he'd hit….

But once he'd jumped out of the car and scrambled around the front he saw he'd done it, barely half a foot out. That he'd managed to avoid disaster.

Now he just had to figure out why there was a bloody, naked man lying in the middle of the highway.

###############

Bobby Singer had been enjoying a quiet beer of an evening, lazily looking over the notes on an apparent Wendigo attack in North Carolina. He was expecting James home within the next few days, after all how long could a simple salt and burn take? Then the two of them could make the trip down, to the small town of Luxemburg for the job.

He was possible being too hard on the kid, Bobby thought to himself in chagrin. After all he was only sixteen, and he did a dam fine job for someone so young and inexperienced. Especially since he didn't like to hunt with others, not since Sam had gone.

It was hard to remember sometimes, that James had only been hunting a year, had only known about the supernatural for four. The kid was a natural if eve he saw one, but Bobby did worry, more than was probably healthy for him at his age, when the boy went off on solo hunt after hunt, that look of apathy on his face that was far too familiar.

Bobby remembered the arrival of James Millar. It had been about six months after Dean had been taken from them and Bobby had begun to truly fear for the last remaining Winchester.

Sam had thrown himself into hunting with a figure that Bobby hadn't realised possible before then. He had hurtled from one job to the next barely keeping in contact with the older man, which had been disturbing and somewhat terrifying. Sam was getting more creatures than ever, but he was doing so with such a lack of care to his own safety.

And then he'd gone on the job in Mississippi, and didn't check in with Bobby for three weeks, until he was about to drive across-country to find the kid, at which point he'd turned up on Bobby's door at three in the morning with a bleeding scalp and a twelve year old James at one arm.

When he'd first turned up, James had been the quietest boy Bobby had ever come across. Later he'd found out about the death of his mother and chalked it up to grief. He was proven right when, as the months progressed James had emerged as an incredibly bright, inquisitive kid, with a temper to rival a….well a Winchester.

Bobby had been suspicious of that at first, at the randomness of the previously nearly cationic Sam turning up suddenly, with a young boy. At the strange resemblance between the two. He'd even gone so far once to accuse Sam of James being his illegitimate son.

Sam had laughed and pointed out that for that to be true he would have had to conceive him at twelve, and Bobby remember Sam at that age?

"Listen Bobby." Sam had told him then "His mom, was…an old friend, one that knew our line of work, I meet her on the job and she was sick, dying actually and there was no one else. She didn't have many close friends and her family…well their deaths was kind of the reason we meet in the first place. She asked me to take care of him. She died. We came here. That's it, no mysteries and not my love child, Bobby, I promise."

Bobby, who did remember Sam at twelve, in all his geeky glory had blushed at that, and let the matter drop. There was still more to it he was sure, because what sort of woman, dying or not gave away her son to a man she had not seen in thirteen years.

But whether James was a Winchester or not, hardly mattered. All that mattered was that he'd brought Sam back from whatever that dark and dangerous place was he'd gone when his brother had died. He'd given Sam back a purpose.

So for the next two years Sam and James had lived with Bobby, James going to school in the local town, while Sam had hunted during the weeks and returned for the weekends. This easy complacency had continued until James was fourteen and the arguments over whether James was old enough to hunt had arisen.

Sam had not wanted him to, had tried to shelter the boy from it for as long as possible, while still protecting him from the things that went bump in the night. Bobby was in no doubt this was because of his own childhood spent at the barrel of a gun.

Lord knew he'd argued with John enough times about the effect of that on his boys, and he'd had to respect that Sam (who was almost as obsessed with getting Dean back as John had been with revenging Mary) had done his darndest to give James a chance at innocence and be a better father figure than his own had been.

But Bobby could also see the hunter's itch with the young James, the desire and the fear in his eyes every time he'd watched Sam leave for the week. The arguments had grown fiercer and fiercer and Bobby had been left to marvel at how much like John Sam always ended up being, even when doing his exact opposite.

Eventually he'd told Sam frankly that if he didn't start letting James come that the boy was going to sneak out on his own. Sam had gotten a bit upset at that idea, and he and Bobby had had a very small argument. The next week however, Sam had changed the day he left to a Saturday and taken the delighted James with him.

They'd stuck to simple salt and burns at first, gradually building up as James had learnt the Trade. Only working on non school days much to the kid's frustration because Sam refused to compromise his education. over all though they had settled back into that easiness their relationship had possessed before.

An easy one but a deep one, so that Bobby began to realise, perhaps for the first time, what exactly it was that John had lost ( or rather not lost but possibly never gained.) by being the father he had been. By never knowing the sometimes there needed to be a little give.

And then Sam had disappeared out of the blue. No note or explanation, not taking the impala or even his duffle bag from the motel room where he and James had been staying. Sam had disappeared and James had inherited his strange and emotionless face from the time he'd lost Dean.

And Bobby had felt far too old and alone for it all.

The situation was different this time. James was much younger that Sam had been and Bobby was able to insist that he return between hunts. He also didn't have the terrible guilt that Sam had experienced when Dean's deal had been claimed.

Only the same loss and the emptiness and seemingly the same desperate desire to get as far way from it as possible.

Bobby was brought sharply from his memories as he heard the load sound of the impala as it roared into the yard, followed shortly by banging on his door and James' fearful cry of "Bobby!"

He scrambled from his seat, making his way swiftly for the door. James was leaning in the entrance way, his face exhausted and an unconscious and _naked?_ man supported on his shoulder.

"I found him on the road about an hour back." James gasped "he's bleeding and I can't tell what's wrong with him."

Bobby, who had been leaning closer in the dull light to get a better look at the man, to a hurried step back, recognition suddenly falling over him. He felt the blood draining from his cheeks, freezing in his veins.

"Bobby?" James asked, getting a look at his expression.

"Quick boy." Bobby muttered, gruffly hauling the two through the doorway. "Help me get him in the devil's trap.

James started "What? But Why?" he asked, even as he headed for the living room.

"Because it's not a real man, because it's wearing a dead man's face."

James who had reached the trap, dropped the man and turned to face Bobby. "How do you know? Who is it?" he asked surprised.

Bobby pulled James away from the unconscious figure with a dark expression.

"Dean Winchester" He replied grimly.

TBC............

**Yeah, so here it is. Tell me how I did on Bobby, cause I've only read him a handful of times. And tell me what you think of James.**

**in other words, Review!!!  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N; Sorry for such a long time between updates, but RL has been a gigantic thing since starting uni and the little writing time I have had, has been devoted to stories which were begging me to be written.**

**I should probably point out that I'm writting this blind- we're only halfway through the second seasson in NZ (the first aired in 2007 and then it skipped a year in 2008). Last night I saw Heart for the first time. **

**When I began writting this it was before salvation/Devil's Trap and Tall Tales, so I was writing Bobby and the trickster based on there ff descriptions. This chapter has been written with more knowledge of Bobby and should hopefully be more in charracter. **

**so while this story is set after the third season (yes I know what happens and am using online sysnopsises) I haven't actully watched the source matterial. so if there are some things that seem way to similar or anything, I apologise, I really don't know.**

**Anyway here's chapter three, I hope you like it, and please review and make my world happy.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Chapter Three**

**-**

**-**

At the first turning of the second stair  
I turned and saw below  
The same shape twisted on the banister  
Under the vapour in the fetid air  
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears  
The deceitful face of hope and of despair

(III) T. S. Elliot, Ash-Wednesday.

-

-

Dean returned slowly and in stages. Registering his senses each, as a different, momentous event. The feel of hard, polished floorboards; the sharp scent of dust and pine and gunpowder; the touch of light over his eyelids.

He drowned in sensations, like tiny supernovas after so long (too long) in deprivation. Where agony had ruled out all other stimulants.

Dean moaned, an ecstasy of discomfort and ache.

Something poked him, a rush of nerve pain and he sighed at the old friend. He was putting off opening his eyes, unsure whether he could handle the power of sight just then, but when he was once again prodded he knew better than to delay. Almost fearfully he blinked, eyelids fluttering and pupils dilating in the bright light. Still it was not as bad as he expected and so, cautiously he allowed them to open more fully this time.

The first thing that swam into his clearing vision was the face of a young boy. For a moment Dean's heart leaped to the thought that it was Sam, but quickly realised the face was not his brother's; was too young. The boy, now looking at Dean with a mixture of fear, anger and worry, could be no more than seventeen, his features still clutched slightly in childhood. Still, Dean thought as the boy ducked away from him, he could see why he'd mistaken him for Sam. His brother was there somehow, in the curve of the mouth; in the bright green eyes and the curly light brown hair that hung low across his brow.

Dimples and bangs that covered the eyes, now wasn't that familiar? Too familiar.

As the boy backed away another man stepped forward and this one Dean did know, in the surety of memory. His lips tipped in a weak smile and he croaked out "Bobby."

Bobby did not smile back, his weathered old face looking down on Dean as one might a cockroach. "James," he growled softly, his gaze never wavering, "fetch the holy water and the exorcism book."

Dean blinked in confutation for a moment, while the boy scuttled off, before the horrid truth of it shuddered down his spine.

Bobby didn't believe it was him, thought he was some kind of Demon or skinwalker. He looked up, feeling ill, and sure enough the carved black of the devil's trap hung above him on the ceiling.

Dean swallowed, trying not to feel hurt because after all, Bobby had no way to know it was the real him, had far less reason to believe it. Dean was meant to be in hell and even he himself did not know why he was not any more. Eventually, he would have been mad if Bobby had not taken these precautions.

"You'll need silver too." Dean whispered hoarsely. "In case I'm a shifter…but the demon stuff you don't…I can just …"

With great effort Dean rolled himself over a few time so that he was out from under the trap.

Bobby followed his movement, glancing away once to the ceiling to check Dean's relationship to the confines of the mark. When his eyes returned to the younger hunter's they were more confused, (worried, hopeful) than outraged. "Forget that James." He yelled over one shoulder, his eyes never leaving Dean "Just bring me my silver knife."

The boy, reappeared a moment later, knife in hand and confusion across his face. His eyes widened as they fell on Dean's new position, halfway across the floor. "He's not possessed?" he asked of Bobby.

Bobby grunted. "'parently not."

He looked away from the boy and Dean understood what Bobby really meant. He'd never thought Dean possessed exactly, just that he might not be Dean anymore.

He hefted the knife. "which only leaves…shifters." He bent towards Dean cautiously.

With a grimace, Dean held out his hand for Bobby to cut, willing to put up with the pain if it meant passing Bobby's human inspection. The knife bit into his skin the same way a steel one would and a moment later blood spilled hot, red and sticky over his palm.

Bobby rocked back on his heels and Dean smiled up at him knowingly "Do I have the Singer seal of approval yet?" he asked cheekily.

Behind the Bobby, the boy was looking between them confused "Bobby, I don't understand…what is he?"

Bobby shook his head "He's something even Satan himself can't keep in the grave apparently. Dean Winchester, how in the world did you get outta that place?!"

Dean shook his head trying, rather painfully to sit up "Your guess is as good as mine." He rasped and tried not to whimper as his hand trembled under his weight and he slipped slightly.

Bobby, realising his delimer, reached down and gripped him gently under the arm pulling Dean up. "Well, give us a hand James, don't just stand there ya idjiot." He directed at the dithering boy.

Between the three of them, they managed to settle Dean comfortably on the coach and Bobby directed James to get the Tynol form the kitchen.

"Sorry we don't have anything stronger, but wasn't exactly expecting ya to be hauling ya arse outta the pit anytime soon. Ya was pretty messed up to be honest, cleaned ya up while ya were still outta it but…" he rubbed the back of his neck guiltily.

Dean grinned weakly "Didn't want to waste good drugs on a demon huh?" he finished, no judgement in his voice.

The boy, James came hurrying back into the room bearing tynol and water and Dean took it gratefully, and slightly shameful at the assistance that it was necessary for Bobby to give him. When done, he lay back on the couch and looked back at his old friend.

"Ho-how long?" He asked at last.

Bobby's eyes were sorrowful. "Just gone four years Dean."

Dean swallowed convulsively. He'd suspected somewhat, since waking up that he'd been gone a while. Could sense it somehow in the atmosphere around him. In the unknown boy, the fresh lines crowding Bobby's face, the changes to the room around him that had resonated unconsciously across him.

But still, he'd thought _months_, maybe a year, not…not _four_.

He looked back at Bobby, at the twist to his gaze that had halted the question on Dean's tongue since he first been aware enough to ask it. He bit his lip, terrified beyond all beliefs of the answer, but needing to know it none the less.

"And Sammy? Where…Bobby, where's my brother."

Bobby looked away, unable to meet his gaze and something inside Dean broke at the response.

"Dean…Christ Lad." Bobby shook his head "Sam's gone, son."

Dean couldn't breathe, his heart pounding impossibly loud in his head. "Go-gone? How?!" he gasped.

Bobby shook his head. "We don't know lad. He just… vanished one day, bout six months ago…we looked Dean, I swear to god we searched everywhere." But he…he was just gone."

Dean shook his head latching onto only one thing in that explanation. "But you don't know what happened? He could be okay, He could have taken off, looking for me or something and-"

"No." The kid spoke up for the first time, his face stubborn and angry and too painfully similar at that particular moment.

Bobby reached over to put a hand on his shoulder with a soft but firm "James." But the kid pulled away from him too. "No, he wouldn't!" he yelled, "He wouldn't just leave me!"

He glared at the two of them, all but crying and then spun around out of the room, door slamming behind him. Dean turned to Bobby flabbergasted. "What on earth was his problem?!" he demanded.

Bobby removed his cap, wiping his brow with a weary expression. "Lot of things changed while you was away Dean." he replied. "And James…well he and your brother was very close. It…it was difficult for him."

Dean looked after James, frowning silently, a mixture of confusion, pain and jealousy. Four years. Had he been replaced?

"Who is he?" Dean asked.

Bobby looked from the closed door, to Dean, a strange, unrecognisable clasp to his features.

"For all intents and purposes?" he replied. "His son."

-

**TBC....**

**please review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Well here's chapter four, please, please, please tell me what you think!!! I had so much trouble with this one!!! Review and I'll give you the next one at the weekend.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with SPN except parts of the plot and James Miller.**

*******

**Chapter Four.**

**At the second turning of the second stair,**

**I left them twisting, turning below;**

**There were no more faces and the stair was dark,**

**Damp and jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling,**

**beyond repair,**

**Or the toothless gullet of an aged shark.**

**Ash-****Wensday**** (III) T..**

***

Three hours found Dean still lain out on Bobby's old beat-up sofa, his mind spinning over, whirring away into lonely question marks. He had missed so much it seemed.

His son.

Sammy's son.

Dean didn't know what to think about that, what not to, where to even start. And Sammy wasn't here and Dean could barely breath with that, could barely breath anyway with the injuries left by his time in hell and…

Dean was tired, just so fucking tired, felt like he hadn't slept in years and that was pretty much true.

His dreams chased each other though, _six year old Sammy crying; "I'm not alright Dean, but neither are you." John burning on the ceiling where his mother should be, Dean in the cradle instead of Sam. _

_John dying, Sammy dying, over and over and over again. _

When he woke again it was night still and Dean had no sense of time, had never regained it, and Bobby was there with Tynol and then _he was trapped in the fire and the sin once m__ore…._

****

It took nearly two days before he felt he had slept enough. He rose around noon and the house was quiet, introspective. Bobby had disappeared off to town a couple of hours ago and there was no sign of the tempestuous James.

Dean felt strange in his own skin. Sort of streatched out and tied down along his nerv endings. He spasmed across his thought rhythm, not knowing where to begin to detangle his memories, emotions. There was to much for his brain to process, yet Dean knew that in order to deal with these things he needed to know yet more.

Needed to know more about the events of his absence; about the war that no longer seemed to exist and Lilith and where the hell James had come from and how he came to be considered Sam's son. Dean may not have been as good as his brother was at school but he could do maths just fine and there was no way the kid was actully Sam's no matter how much he looked like he was.

He paced, irritation fraying over bobby's scratched up floor-boards until the rumble of a familiar engine pierced his hearing and Dean dashed to the door so quickly it was almost violent.

The Impala.

Sam.

He grinned a wild grin as he yanked the door open. It must have been Sam who'd got him back after all, whatever the kid said. The kid didn't know Sam! Not like Dean did and his brother would do anything to get him back from hell.

Now he'd saved him, Sam was coming home and they could be together again.

Sam would not have let anyone else near the car, not after he'd lost Dean. The Impala, it was home, it was for family.

He burst out of the house, his mouth poised on the edge of an answered prayer, but god had not granted him mercy and the world crashed away from him.

James jumped from the driver's seat, long haired and slouching, checked shirt hanging open and wrinkled in the most awful parody Den had ever known. The kid ran his hand along the bonnet with a sigh as old as Dan felt, before, in sudden anger he slammed the door shut.

This brought Dean sharply back to the present "Hey!" he yelled, enraged. "What the hell do you think your doing to MY car!"

the kid spun to face him, caged fury, hands seizing- _clench, unclench_-he looked at Dean as though he'd never hated anyone more.

"It's not YOUR car, It's SAM's! And He left it with ME!"

Dean's temper split, a splinter down the middle "Well who the HELL do you think GAVE it to Sam?! And maybe if he'd known how you were going to treat her he would have thought twice about leaving it with you!"

They were slowly advancing on each other, all anger and emphasised angles and Dean didn't necessarily dislike the kid, especially if he was as important to Sam as he seemed but in that moment he hated the kid as much as James seemed to hate him; hated him _because_ the kid hated him, and his head was messed up right now, and for the impala door.

For the fact that James was here and his brother was not and because he was pretty sure the kid had the exact same problem with.

The anger deflated out of Dean, leaving him shallow, empty. He wanted no part in this all of a sudden and he twisted away from the spitting teen.

"Jesus. Just be careful next time." He exhaled.

"FUCK YOU." The scream was impossibly loud and against all odds it seemed James had inherited something else off Sam, his lungs. "Just, just…Who the FUCK are YOU?! We were FINE! We were fine without you! HE was MEANT TO COME HOME!! IT PROMISED! IT WAS MEANT TO BE HIM, NOT YOU!!"

and for the second time in as many days, James took off with the slam of a door.

****

Bobby did not arrive home until after dark that night, his feet clattering across the floor and into the low lit living room. Dean waited for him, a half-drunk warm beer twisted in his hands. Bobby stopped at the sight of him; At the slump of Dean's shoulders and firm line of his jaw.

"Kinda hoped I might have another day or two." He told him tiredly.

Dean looked down to his hands then back to the elder hunter. "Sorry Bobby, we gotta do this now, tonight. I…I need to know. Everything."

Bobby sat beside him with a sigh, defeated. "Where would you like to start?"

"the kid." Dean replied. "How did he…why did Sammy…Just, what happened?"

Bobby shrugged off his coat. "Well you see…and I don't know everything mind, you see ya brother, he…Christ."

He scratched his chin with a grimace "After you… went down there, Sam fell apart a bit. Started to obsess over the hunts and Lilith and everything, the way your Papa used to, only worse. He wasn't looking after himself, not eating and sleeping and being careful the way he should have been. For a while, for a while I was real worried Dean I was gonna lose both of ya."

He sighed, age sweeping over his face for a moment and Dean was suddenly aware the Bobby was probably into his sixties by now.

"Then, must have been about half a year afta the deal came through, he took a job in Mississippi. I didn't hear from him in nearly month, and I'd been making him check in regular mind, every couple of days. Christ but I was worried, but right before I went afta him, he turned up, here, with the kid.

Never really told me why he had him, said that his Mama was an old friend of his, that there had been no one else to look after him. She'd died, ya see, whil he was in Missassipi. Was't connected to the case, or at least I don't think it was. I wonderned about it, still do, but in the end, I realised, it didn't matter why he had James."

Dean sent him an odd look "Why?"

"Because after he got James, Sam got some purpose back into his life. Something that wasn't hunting and killing. Something ta fight for." He caught the look on Dean's face "And I ain't saying that he weren't willing ta fight for you son, lord knows I ain't saying that. Ya brother _never_ stopped looking for a way to save you. But you weren't here Dean. It wan't the same. Sam was responsible for James, had to look after him, which meant he had to look after himself somewhat so don't give me that look because I _know_, that _you_ know what I mean."

"So James hunted with him." Dean stated, pointedly ignoring the commeant because of course he understood very well what the man meant.

Bobby shrugged "Well not at first, no. Sam wouldn't let him. Didn't want him forced inta the life like you two was by ya Papa- don't argue, ya know that's the truth Dean." He barked as Dean's moth opened in displeasure .

"Like I was saying, Sam didn't want him hunting too young, but the kid was determined and eventually after we'd shared some words, Sam let him. They was working together just over a year before…And well that's as much as I know. For the rest you'd have to ask Sam…Or James."

Dean grimaced at the very thought and took a large swig of beer "And Lilith, what happened there? There was pretty a war brewing when I left and neither you nor the kid have mentioned a thing since I got back."

"Down to ya brother. It all came to a head bout a year or so after you went to the pit. He drew Lilith out, part of what he was up to with that mass hunting thing he started after he lost you. He thought if he found Lilith he would be able to get you back, her being the one who held your contract after all. He slowed down after James came but he didn't stop and eventully…he got her."

"And?" Dean pressed.

Bobby looked down "again like, I don't know everything. I wasn't there." He told him guiltily "I wanted to be Dean, but Sam, he didn't tell anyone what he was up to, part from those involved. Didn't want anyone else to get hurt. Anyways from what I gathered afterwards, he trapped her in a devil trap, just outta Spencer. We had the colt back by then, nasty story that one, but anyways."

Bobby sighed a long drawn out exhale "Firstly Dean, ya gotta understand, this Demon plot, Lilith's plan, it was way bigger than we thought. Turns out Lilith had been braking these seals, these 66 seals and if she'd succeeded well…Lucifer would have been freed Dean."

Dean stopped breathing, his horror almost palpable in the evening air "Lucifer, as in Sa-."

Bobby cut him off with a nod "Exactly. And you can imagine what…Well by the time Sam caught up with her, she'd already broken forty odd. Ya need to know…you need to know where we stood Dean. You need to understand."

Dean's eyes focused in on his old friend's face, on the lines of horror and helplessness and shame. "Bobby." He asked quietly something slithering painfully through him. "What happened?"

Bobby looked away from him "Sam…he went in there for you, he tracked Lilith so he could get you back, it was his primary goal. But he also knew..He couldn't let her live, to break the last of those seals, he couldn't let her leave alive, not for anything."

Dean could see where this was going, could see with an awful clarity. Could see the decision he brother must have had to make. The right one, Dean knew, but one he himself would have been able to make he was not so sure. Could he have done the same, for sake of the whole world?

Bobby carried on, oblivious to Dean's thoughts.

"He was betrayed. One of the hunters working with him, was possessed. Sam shot the demon and it's host but not before it had help Lilith out of the circle. Sam hesitated…he hesitated for so long Dean, but in the end…"

"He killed her." Dean finished for him.

There was silence for a time, washing over the room in a soft kind of numbness. Dean didn't want to know anything else. Not then. He hadn't even wanted to know those things but he'd understood it was necessary, important.

But Dean wished he didn't know. That Sam had found someone else to hunt with, that the world had almost ended. That his salvation was the price for it not to.

And especially, that however much he would have despised himself, he would have done the same thing.

"He didn't stop." Bobby's voice came, impossibly loud through the hush. "He didn't ever stop, not even after everyone told him it was pointless with Lilith gone. I told you before Dean, Sam never stopped trying to save you."

Dean put down his empty beer bottle. A quite firm clunk on the wooden table. And looked at the other with a deturmand stare.

"I gotta find him Bobby."

**TBC....**

**the plot thickens. Please tell me what you think!!**

TAFATT


	5. Interlude, the First

**A/n: Sorry this is short. If it makes you feel better the next one is longer and already finished so I should have it up within the next week. Also I think I might make up for the length with the fact that we get Sam for the first time. LeGasp.**

**Anyway you know the drill-please review.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**--**

**This chapter is for Smothie42. Thanks for your enthusiasm.**

*******

_Interlude the First_

_***_

_Three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree_

_In the cool of the day, having feed to satiety_

_On my legs, my heart, my liver and that which had been_

_Contained_

_In the hollow round of my skull. And God said:_

_Shall these bones live?_

_Shall these bones live?_

_Ash-Wednesday (II) T._

***

_Sam lay in the company of Stars, drifted huge and infinite. _

_Beneath him the world sprawled; Sam watched, a golden chain, hair thin the only thing tying him back. Below and a million miles away his physical body dwelled in the company of demons. _

_He looked out on the world from a view that never stopped. _

_The demons had wanted him for this very reason, as a mouth piece for the universe; for the revenge of a mother whom he had killed only unwilling._

_ They had wanted him dead completely, but he was the last of Azeral's blood children, the only one who had survived both the demonic and the expansion of their minds to the aether. So they had settled for his madness; crushing the thin line left to him and Sam had spun off into dream ends, leaving his body empty and pliant for their twisted games. _

_Or so they thought. They thought Sam destroyed; shattered into some mindless thing. They though Sam still resided in his body. But Sam did not._

_It had been a choice between being broken or fleeing himself and Sam had chosen to follow his consciousness out, to his most distant edges, beyond even their reaches._

_And so Sam watched the world and distantly another him with empty eyes told them what he saw; told them the movements of hunters and humans and other demons. What they did and would do and could do as only Sam saw now._

_But the demons did not know about the gold chain, that Sam was tied back to himself. They did not know that Sam still had will, could still choose…_

_Sam twisted around satellites and focused an ethereal eye on the thing that occupied the most spaces of him now. _

_He had watched breathless as the deal was made; the turn of mind that had rippled outwards into the unexpected. He watched the rise; the foundation returning to the world so that it was stable once more. So that Sam had a touchstone._

_He had seen the horizon expand, endless again. Reviled in the now inevitable escape from this transient state._

_Dean was in the world once more, Sam could not be lost forever._

_James did not like Dean, though he was the one among them who knew the most truth. Not all, only Sam in his endless place where human thought drifted loud and clear, understood the full truth, knew how all of this had happened. But James did not like Dean and Dean, for his part was disinterested in James. It saddened Sam, the first true emotion he had felt in a long time. Emotion was a chemical reaction and here Sam had no compounds to react._

_ Yet it hurt to see them fight. Somehow._

_But Sam too saw the other connections. The clear brotherhood between Dean and himself. The parental connection between him and James. The secret of family that James did not speak of even in his absence._

_And of course, that dark, forbidden thing Dean tried not to even let himself remember. That good-bye of soft prayers and need. _

_Sam saw that, quite apart from that hidden, binding bond, James and Dean were already inextricably linked. A mutual love, not of each other but of Sam himself. _

_That even if no other reason existed, the two would have fallen together for him alone._

_James was beginning to realise this, he could see, though he did not yet except it. Dean, in his almost total ignorance of the situation, had not. Resented James' sudden presence, both in his and Sam's lives._

_Which was ironic in the end, because he'd only found James in the name of Dean. Something it seemed his brother would not discover for a while if the boy had his way. _

_No matter, soon they would find Sam, or rather his body, and then he could climb down the golden chain to them. Then he could tell Dean the truth of James Miller and Sam Winchester and the trickster and Dean's own resurrection._

_Below his body's mouth opened, his brother's names on his lip edge, but Sam turned it instead to the events of a demonic possession in Florida._

_ The physical Sam told the demons of a plot concerning Wicca practitioners and a hunter who was tracking the wayward devil. Of the return of Dean Winchester, his subsequent search for his little brother and their vassal, he said nothing at all._

_Find me, Sam whispered, ethereal, to James; to Dean. Find me._

**TBC...**

**Well I hope you liked that chapter and take the time to review it for me. Seriously, it's depressing to be five instalments in with only four reviews-I'm starting to think people think this thing is crap.**

**And that ain't inspirational, trust me.**

_TAFATT_


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay so thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews!! I know it was silly to get so worried over something like that but I was just so enthusiastic about this story and it seemed like no one was liking it.**

**So thanks again for all the encouragement and here's another chapter for you for it.**

**I Am watching '_what is and what should never be_****' for the first time as I edit this. (my country's network is unbelievably behind America.) And as a much as I've been looking forward to this episode (and yay it has way more Sam in it than I thought it did.) it's is kinda intimadating too. I mean, here I am writing on events nearly two seasons ahead of where I am in the show, basically working off a general idea of what happens in each episode and gut instinct about the characters. **

**Anywho, on with the show.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing save the plot and James. Please don't sue. **

Chapter Five.

**

Where shall the word be found,

Where will the word resound?

Not here, there is not enough silence…

For those who walk in darkness

Both in the day time and the night time

The right time and right place, are not here.

Ash-Wednesday (V) T..

**

Dean was packed early the next morning, wanting to make a quick start. Already berating himself for the three days wasted since his return, despite the fact he knew he'd been in no state to travel. Barely was now.

His belongings, clothes mostly, had been in a chest of draws in the room he had Sam used to share when they stayed there. Apparently it had taken Bobby almost two years to convince his brother not to carry Dean's duffel in the Impala everywhere he went. The idea of throwing them out had been as inconceivable as the suggestion of scraping the Impala all those years ago. (it was nearly six years since the accident, but still only two and far too fresh to Dean's mind.)

And as Dean slipped his worn, dusty jacket over his shoulders, he silently thanked Sam for his pig-headed ways, insisting on keeping the clothes.

They were an anchor of sorts, bring him back to earth; stabilizing him. Too many things had changed; were new or had dropped away, none the lest his brother's once consistent presence.

And so as small and insignificant as it was, that he could wear these, his own shirts and jeans and jacket,that was keeping him this side of sanity.

He tracked down to the kitchen, not really expecting Bobby or the boy to be up, the hour it being. He was surprised therefore, when not only were they both there before him, but Bobby was already half-way through breakfast. He looked at them through half-lidded eyes, blinking rather stupidly.

Bobby grunted at him as he slid the bacon from the pan. "Was figuring, you boys would be wanting an early start, 'Lest two day drive to the place Sam disappeared and you've never been one to hang about Dean."

Dean's eyes narrowed and he looked from Bobby to James, "You boys…" He caught sight of the stuffed duffel at James' feet. "Oh hell, No! The kid is _not _coming with me."

James flashed Dean a withering look through his bangs. "Well, how else are you gonna get there without my car?"

"_Your_ car." Dean spluttered, unbelieving and outraged "_Listen_ kid-"

"Dean." Bobby cut him off firmly, clunking a couple of plates down onto the table "James is going with you. He wants to find Sam the same as you do, got as much right to be involved. Sides, you know these things are safer in pairs."

"And James," he continued, cutting off the teen's smug look, "It's Dean's car. Sam was only looking after it for _him_ and _you_ was only minding it for _Sam._ So, none of that cheek. Now stop it both of ya. Like a couple of children and it's too early for me to be dealing with it."

He sat at the table heavily, and after a moment Dean reluctantly joined them.

Breakfast was quiet, tense and Dean finished it as quickly as he could manage. With a grunt he pushed the empty plate away from him and stood, duffel over one shoulder. "Give me your bag." He told James rather tersely, "I'll toss 'em in the car and check the weapons."

James reluctantly handed him his gear, glaring. "The weapons are fine." He argued stubbornly. Dean shook his head as he headed for the door "Yeah, whatever kid." He called back over his shoulder.

Outside the first thing he did was give the Impala a brief once over, nervous after what he had witness the day before. It seemed however, that yesterday had been an aberration. Impala was in great condition and Dean, grudgingly, had to admit that whatever else his faults, James could obviously maintain a classic to good standard. Probably with help from Bobby, but still, it was better than he could have hoped if he'd got it back directly from Sam.

The boot was a surprise. Four years ago he would have found a chaotic pile of weaponry, losely separated into standard hunter disciplines- Guns. Knifes. salt,silver and iron. Emfs.

Dean had always kept the tools clean and well maintained but he'd never particularly stored them rigidly.

Now though, the artillery was sorted into complex system. Dean could see the top most layers- silver loaded guns, long knifes, four salt variates. But, he suspected that the system went far deeper than types of things and ammo, and was possibly even cross-referenced to what they were used for.

Still, Dean couldn't be mad; organisation to the point of distraction, yet ultimately useful? That had Sam written all over it. Dean had gone through the same thing when his brother had begun his hunter's database, having eventually become frustrated with the lack of rhythm to their father's journal. Dean remembered, not only having to enter monster types but geographical locations and dates of previous hunts. It had been annoying but, he'd had to admit, it meant he got the perfect entry every time.

God.

Dean _missed_ Sam, four years worth of missing someone squeezed into three days. He wasn't sure how it was he was functioning save for the fact that he knew he couldn't get his brother back if he didn't.

He had been siting in the driver's side for nearly quarter of an hour before James and and Bobby emerged from the house.

Dean watched them approach, Bobby muttering some quiet words to the teen which, judging by the mulish expression on his face, were probably about Dean and not to James' liking. Dean gave Bobby a nod as the boy grumpily got into the passenger's side.

"I'll give you a call when we get to Little Rock. Probably be around Friday. Don't know how long we'll be there…or where…"

Bobby nodded his understanding at Dean's half-finished promise "Ya two just look after ya selves, right? I don't wanna be hearing that your in some hospital somewhere, or that one of you've offed the other. Look after one another and stay _together_. For Sammy's sake. Bring our boy home."

Dean swallowed, throat slightly constricted. "I-We will Bobby. I promise."

"I know you will Dean, and look after James, will ya." He added, despite the teen's outraged look. "He's still rather new at this after all. Your _good_ James, and Sam taught ya a lot. But he didn't teach ya e_verything_. And remember, Dean's the one who taught Sam, right?"

"Right." James agreed, disgruntled. "See-ya Bobby."

"See ya lad, Dean."

Bobby backed up and Dean turned the key in the ignition, smiling at the beautifully familiar purr that shivered over his spine.

His baby.

The world may be messed up, Dean too, with an annoying boy in Sam's seat, with Sam _missing_ and Dean not knowing where he was. Yes the world may be crap right now, but at least one thing was the way it was supposed to be.

They'd been out on the highway about twenty minutes when the silence began to grate on Dean. James hadn't said anything so far, looking out the window silent and broody and Dean would have laughed at that ludicrously familiar sight, if it weren't for the fact that it only impressed Sam's absence upon him more.

He wondered about his music collection's where abouts. After all Sam had kept the clothes. But then again, where his brother had been indifferent about what Dean wore he had hated his music. And, glancing at the stereo, Dean could see the horrific addition of a ipod connector.

He stopped cold, angst dissipating for a moment. How dare Sammy _desecrate_ his baby, he thought.

The kid shifted in his chair and Dean cleared his throat pointedly. "Don't suppose there's a box or something of old rock tapes around here?" He asked the boy.

James shot him an undecipherable look and, with hesitation, reached under his seat. "Why do ya want 'em?" He asked suspiciously.

Dean grinned, triumphant and overjoyed. Oh man, he couldn't _believe_ Sam hadn't ditched these.

He took the box off James, bemused. "Why do ya think I want 'em?" he asked, sliding one in and ACDC's _Back__ in Black _erupted out the speakers.

"Oh yeah." Dean called. "That there is _music_!"

Something flashed across James' face "Wait- so those tapes- their yours?" He asked hesitantly.

Dean's grin widened. "Dam right there mine, why?"

"I just.." James faulted, "It doesn't matter." He finished, forlornly.

The brief smile slipped off Dean's face, and he turned the music down. "No," he chased "What were you gonna say?"

James looked down, face hidden by his mane of hair. "Sam used to put them on sometimes is all." He mumbled. "I mean mostly we listened to newer stuff, but sometimes, if a hunt went bad or something, he'd put one of them on. Real loud and kinda go quiet for ages. I never knew why. I guess I should have figured it was something to do with you."

If there was bitterness in James' tone, then Dean missed it, too caught back in the meaning of the statement. In the firm, undeniable proof of how his brother had missed him.

He had known, intellectually, that Sam must have. Knew that Sam had obsessed over getting him back, yet it had been somehow abstracted. Intangible. Especially when it seemed as though Sam had all but replaced him with James.

So the small, simple thing- Sam keeping the tapes. Playing Dean's music, which he had once hated. Playing it when he felt _bad_; because it reminded him of his brother and made Sam feel better.

It was the most powerful declaration Dean had ever known.

**TBC....**

**So here's chapter five. Hope you enjoyed and pretty please R&R.**

**TAFATT**


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: another shorter chapter I'm afraid, but with another big reveal so I don't feel so bad; besides I spent last night writing the first big wincesty scene (coming your way soon) so I figure it all evens out. **

**Thank you to those people who took the time to review the last chapter, it's always apprecited and (incert plea for R&R here) is always welcome.**

**Anyway on with the chapter (If anyone's even read this anyway lol.)**

**Disclamer: I own nothing.**

**Chapter Six**

**..**

Prey for…

Those who wait in darkness?

For the children at the gate

Who will not go away and cannot prey:

Prey for those who choose and oppose…

Prey for those that offend..and

Are terrified and cannot surrender.

Ash-Wensday (V) T.

--

Little Rock, Arkansas.

The first high-school in America to be de-segregated was here. Fifty four years ago now.

It was Sam who'd taught him that, the first time they had come.

Told him of Orval Faubus and the National Guard and the Little Rock Nine.

He was supposed to be learning it in class for black history month but James never seemed to retain any of that kind of knowledge unless it was Sam who taught him it.

Sam had told him of so many things- of history and hunting, Latin and Ancient Mythology. Weapon Care and Car Repair and the life and death of Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester, who so _wasn't_ what James had expected. Who was cocky and caring and utterly devoted: to the hunt and his car and his brother.

Dean who was just like every story Sam had ever told about him, all the ones James couldn't, or wouldn't believe. Not when he'd spent 16 years hating Dean-or at least wanting to.

Now, it would be so easy to hate Dean- Dean who was there when all James wanted was Sam and his soft, patient voice and seemingly infinite knowledge of the world.

Sam, who's loss made James an orphan twice over. Who's memory made James feel guilty, shameful for hating Dean the way he had always wanted to.

When he was a child it had only been James and his mother, his beautiful, wondrous mother with her tender smile and laugh lines and gentle hands.

Yes, it had only been his mother, but she had filled the world up so he'd never needed anyone else.

Then his mother had died, skin waxy and stretched from sickness. His mother had died but Sam had been there, Sam with his own wild greif… who seemed the only other person in the universe who understood the loss.

James knew, that others found it strange, that though only twelve yeas between them, Sam took the role of a father not brother.

Yet, his mother (_Waxy skin, laugh lines_) had only been seventeen at the time of James's birth so it had not been such a leap for him.

And Sam had been so old, in his head when he'd found James in Mississippi. So tired.

The last winchester, unrelenting in the quest for his brother.

Yet, James had given up all faith in Dean Winchester long before their meeting, before his knowledge even of Sam's existence.

So the sight of it in Sam, the man he idolised, his _Dad_ (even if only called such in his head), had disturbed him. He'd tried to ignore it, that unyielding loyalty Sam so clung to; tried to make it false in his mind. The only fault he ever found in him.

But now, Dean back less than a week, James was forced into truth. To acknowledge that Sam, who he loved, was the product of Dean, who he hated. That the things that had seemed so utterly Sam, he had learnt to do from Dean. And it made James so angry,so confused.

And he didn't even know how all this had happened to begin with; because James had been given a wish, and although it was from the Trickster and James' request had never been vocalised, it had been clear.

He had cried out, internally, for Sam, for all the things Sam represented and made James feel. How could that have possibly been confused?

' How could he have ended up with _Dean Winchester_, the opposite of Sam; a negative, absent presence in his life. Who had made his mother so tired and Sam so sad and for so long had been the sole focus of all the anger James had ever known.

Yes , How could they _ever_ be confused?

James had wanted Dean once, a very long time ago, and some part of that need had lingered with him. He remembered, on some some long drive last year, rather timidly asking, what Dean would have thought of him.

Sam had looked at him and through him and at some distant and unretchable thing.

"Your a lot like him." Sam had said, longing, "In so many little ways. It would have driven him nuts-he wouldn't have understood…he would have found you _so_ frustrating and he would have bugged me over it and you two would have fought, all the time. My turn to be in the middle I suppose."

He'd laughed, eyes bright, glassy but then he'd looked, entirely at James, at nothing beyond him. Reassuring and wistful and accepting.

"He would have loved you, _so_ much. He would have loved you as much as I do."

James hadn't believed, that Dean could have loved him, yet not been there. That Sam who was amazing, could be so devoted to him. He could not believed it possible.

Now he knew it was not, knew that Dean could never love him, not even if he knew the truth, not even having witnessed the passion with which the man took family.

It would be impossible to forget, in the end, all the lost years, all the years of hate and absence. And though he could see, perhaps, his fury had been misguided, that time, James' _life_time, was permanent none the less.

And James did _not_ relent to having been completely wrong about Dean, not entirely, even if he would grudgingly admit that Sam had been partly right.

He could not reconcil yet, the barstad who had caused so much pain, with the man who had inspired so much love.

Even his mother had not blamed Dean, though surely she'd had more reason than anyone in the world. Had never faulted him, had disliked it when James had. He still did not understand that, thought perhaps he never would, but that was besides the point.

And the point was, infact….

He'd had a mother and she'd died. Then he'd had Sam and he had found a Dad. There should have be no space for Dean, there _was_ no space for Dean.

Yet.

Everything seemed to tie back to him, in the end. Every part of James and those he loved. Dean was intrinsic, a loathed epicenter in the world.

And he _had_ once wanted him, a long time ago, he had wanted Dean but he'd gotten Sam and been more grateful than words could say.

Now he wanted Sam, had wished and preyed for him, but what he'd gotten was Dean, the man he no longer needed.

He'd wanted his father and he'd been given a Dad. He'd wanted his Dad and he'd been given his father.

It was, James realised, the irony of life.

**TBC.....**

**DunDunDUN!!**

**okay so a lot of you probably saw that coming, but hopefully I got a few of you, right? PLease review and tell me, cause I'm a little stuck on the next chapter and in need of the inspiation.**


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N; So here it is, chapter seven, a very hard chapter to write let me tell you.**

**A little more focus on Sam and Dean in this chapter because I know the lack of Sam time has been frustraighting you guys as much as it has me. There's oly so much I can do about that at this point though. but, the count down for the rescue attempt has begun.**

**Oh and can I jsut say that I saw part one of AHBL last night for the first time and it was awesome!! and as you will see helped me a little with chapter.**

**As always, I beg for reviews, for inspiration and warm fuzzies. they really do help me come up with ideas and finish chapters quicker, I swear.**

**Anyho, on with the show.**

**Disclaimer: I own Nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Seven

* * *

_Redem the time,_

_Redem the dream;_

_The token of the Word,_

_unheard, unspoken._

_Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew._

_Ash-Wednesday (IV_) T..

* * *

Dean sat in the dank motel room trying to contain the fury that danced up his spine.

They had been in Little Rock nearly three days and so far the place had been a bust.

Dean had been clever, had gone to the same motel, asked for the same room Sam and James had got last time. He'd throuwen every possible test he knew at the place.

But the problem was, they really had no idea what they were dealing with. Whether it was a demon or a god or a monster.

The problem was it had been months since Sam had disappeared and so even if the thing had left a trace once, it was long gone by now.

James said it hadn't, said he'd spent weeks in Little Rock last time, raking over every inch of the place, with Bobby.

They hadn't found anymore then than they were now and Dean was terrified because he had no idea where to go after here.

He stared at the cluttered table, fingers trailing over notes of the hunt the two had come here for; Sam's neat writing splayed out and for a moment Dean could pretend that the hunt was still in progress and he was involved; had never gone to hell. That it was Sam who'd taken the impala off to grab dinner and that his brother would be back any minute now.

The door opened suddenly and Dean jumped up, eyes flying to it.

It was only James of course, as it always seemed to be these days when Dean looked for his brother. He felt the anger well up and struggled to push it away.

James moved hesitantly over to the table, throwing Dean a strange look "I, uh, got Chinese." He offered, placing the bag down on the clear space beside Sam's notes.

Dean looked from the pages, now illegible in the bag's shadow, to the boy beside him; moving hesitantly from foot to foot and suddenly needed to be out of that room.

"What ever, I'll have it later. I'm going out for a bit. Make sure you check the salt lines before you go to bed. Don't wait up." He called as he bustled out the door.

Some part of him knew that he wasn't doing this right; that James was, for reasons quite beyond him, important to Sam and that should mean that Dean should treat him better- like the family Bobby claimed him to be.

Yet, frantic with Sam's loss and the lack of rhythm to his disappearance and with his own currently screwed up head, Dean just couldn't manage it then.

It was cold outside, dispite the sunlight fading rapidly along the street edges and Dean huddled in on himself slightly, wishing he'd thought to bring a jacket.

Dusk. It had always been a point of recognition for Dean, a time when he felt most open to the world around him. '_Communing with the a__ether._' Sam had often teased him in those days that seemed too long ago now. Dean had denied the statemeant greatly, saying that Sammy was the one with the psychic mojo, but there was some true still to the phase.

Dusk, dawn, they were transit periods, in every form of lore, and some part of Dean moved with them.

He was approaching the center of town now, hands stuffed in his jean pockets, crushed around his wallet and keys, so as to stop his fingers from freezing.

The street lights had begun to flicker on, tongues of flame over his head and his feet crunched solitary over the asphalt. A breeze rustled the bushes along the road edge.

It fell over him in a wave, unexpected, and he exploded outwards into something infinitely bigger than himself; tiny human Dean Winchester, walking a street in Little Rock.

The closest thing to it he'd ever experienced, was Andy sending him that painful vision of Cold Oak, when he and Sam had been trapped there. It was the same intense pressure on his skull, the same feeling of something outside of him forcing the switches in his brain.

But there was no pain, not like with Andy, and no pictures either. Instead Dean felt an incredible focus course through him, shuddering up every particle of his being, _n____**eedneed**__**needing something**_**.**

He spun around; terrified and desperate. Not knowing what was happening and internally screaming at himself for leaving the motel room without James. How stupid, because whatever this was, Dean could feel the desperation for _**Somethingsomething**_over every part of him and what if this was the thing that had taken Sam? Sam, who's mind was so much more susceptible to such things than Dean's was.

His eyes turned and the desire inside of him suddenly sighed itself out,_**yesyesyes**_ and Dean knew instinctively that this was what the the creature whatever it was, wanted or wanted Dean to want.

He felt himself diminishing, the otherness fleeing him and returning him to just Dean Winchester and he was so relieved he-

_Lilacs._

It swelled over him in the thing's wake, the scent of lilacs; soft and familiar and Dean felt himself freeze in sudden knowledge.

Then he reached out, desperate once again but now in a force entirely his own, trying to catch onto the presence that had invaded him previously, attempting to grab onto it.

But it was too late, the last fragments fading with the final glow of sunlight and Dean was left alone in the evening street, sky dark around him.

* * *

_When Dean had been ten years old, John Winchester had started to leave his sons alone for longer periods while he hunted. Dean charged with looking after himself and his brother, getting them both to school and feed with the money John left behind for the purpose._

_It was during one of these hunts, when his father had been held up longer than he'd meant to be, that it had started._

_Money had been running particularly low and during the shopping trip Dean had bought the essentials from every bargain bin he could find._

_This had included a small bottle of Ella's Two in one Lilac Scented Shampoo and Conditioner; Packed with vitamins for Full and Lush Hair._

_Sam had complained bitterly when he'd emptied the bag in their shabby apartmeant and in all honesty Dean could hardly blame him. His younger brother was already teased for his second hand clothes and small stature. Girly shampoo was the last thing he needed._

_Dean had opened the top and smelt the stuff, intending to tell Sam that it wasn't too bad whether it was or not. He'd paused however on the first intake and a small smile had played across his face immediately._

"_What?" Sam had asked grumpy and intrigued in the same motion and Dean had turned towards him still smiling._

"_It smells like mum used to. Like her perfume." He told his brother, half lost in the memory of blond hair and brown eyes like Sammy's and the soft smell of what he now knew to be lilacs._

_Sam had moved over hurriedly. "I wanna smell, I wanna smell!"_

_Dean handed him the small bottle and Sam had sniffed, face lighting up "we're gonna smell like Mummy, Dean!" he'd exclaimed excited._

_Dean's smile widened, matching his brother's indulgently "Yeah, Sammy, we are."_

* * *

_  
_

_Sam, much to their father's displeasure had insisted on the stuff after he'd found out about Mary's perfume. Sam had always been obsessed with catching onto pieces of his mother. The woman he had no memories of, no chance to reconcile in his mind._

_Then when his brother was thirteen, Dean had finally lost _that_ argument with their father; concerning hunting and whether or not Sam was too young. _

_His first hunt had been a wendingo and it had gone about as bad as it could go._

_Dean had ended up in hospital for several days and he did not know what had happened during those intervening days but when he'd been signed out, Sam had been small and scratched and pale; looking for all the world as though he was the one who had been ripped open from shoulder to navel._

_Sam hadn't been the cause of Dean's injuries, not in his own mind, but one look from his father's fiery gaze to Sam's suddenly older, colder one, told Dean exactly what must have been said._

_And a couple of days later he'd found an almost full shampoo bottle in the motel bin and when he had asked, Sam had replied simply, seriously, that He was too old for those things anymore. That he needed to grow up._

_And something inside Dean had broken a bit and for a moment he had hated their father a little._

* * *

_  
_

_Dean paused in undoing his shirt, eyes falling onto the half full bottle beside the shower and with a grin he snatched it up and headed back into the motel room, to where his brother was bent over the kettle._

"_Dude, lilac shampoo? I thought you out grew that years ago." He laughed._

_Sam shuffled. "I did" he replied absently._

"S_o what gives?" Dean asked, curious._

_Something in Sam's face spasmed and his expression fell away. Dean knew the face well and cursed himself silently._

"_Jess used to insist on it. She liked it, like...like mum did. I guess I just got used to buying it again. And it- it helps me remember." He finished softly._

"_Shit bro, I'm sorry." Dean bit his lip, hating himself for dragging Sam back down._

_But Sam shook his head, somehow smiling "No it's-" he paused, having difficulty "It's okay. I…miss her, heaps. But, it's been nearly a year and I want…I need to get over it. I'm still alive Dean, and I won't.. won't waste that. Not like Dad. _

_I won't let what's left of me die with her. She wouldn't want that."_

_Dean said nothing, unsure whether he was expected to, and not wanting to ruin this potential break though for his brother. Because he was right about what had happened to their father when their mother had died._

_Dean loved John Winchester, but he never wanted Sam to live the way he did._

_Sam swallowed and then spoke again, suddenly reckless after too long in self-imposed guilt. "It was how I knew, you know. We moved in together and it was in her shower and I laughed, cause, _you know." _He shrugged slightly._

_"But then, we went to bed, that first night and the pillow smelled like lilacs and it felt…it felt like home and I knew that I loved her."_

_Dean blinked rapidly, unsure when this, emotional fest had crept upon them but with a voice suddenly to weak to protest. _

'_Sammy.." he whispered, helplessly. Unable to give the girl back to Sam. _

_His brother shook his head, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder, as though he was the one in need of comfort. "Dean, it's okay. I'm okay. And Jess was wonderful, nut she's not the only one who gave me a home."_

_He broke off with a grin "Look at us, a couple of girls." He laughed._

_Dean smiled, watery. "I'm not the one with flowery shampoo." He fired back._

_"Jerk."_

_"Bitch."_

_And afterwards Dean bought Sam lilac scented hair wash every time he could._

* * *

Dean's vision cleared and he fixed his eyes on the focus of the desire of a few moments ago.

It was a sign, bright against the dark, in neon blue letters.

_**Eclipse Bar and Night-hall.**_

He didn't know how but his brother had been with him, momentarily. Sammy had been here, inside him, he knew it as truly as he knew his own name.

Sam had been here and Dean knew now where to start looking for him.

He walked towards the bar with slow deliberate steps.

* * *

**TBC....**

**Well that's it for now folks. Remember reviews make the chapters come quicker. **

**TAFATT xoxo (lol)**


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